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Posts Tagged ‘Pamela Franklin’

Let us take a moment to glance into the future, by which of course I mean 1970, or thereabouts: there’s going to come a time when The Avengers ceases production, after all, and what is everyone involved going to do then? Well, emigrate to America in the case of Patrick Macnee, not make a Bond film in the case of Linda Thorson, and as for the boys behind the scenes…

It seems like most of the key creative personnel stuck together with an eye to going into movies. Brian Clemens, producer and de facto head writer on the show, eventually ended up writing and directing a couple of the later Hammer horrors (Doctor Jekyll and Sister Hyde and Captain Kronos – Vampire Hunter), so perhaps it’s not entirely surprising that a little while before this he was involved in what’s effectively a horror movie: Robert Fuest’s And Soon the Darkness.

(This is one of those movies where you do get a sense that the title is a placeholder which they never really got back to. Quite apart from the fact that it’s roaringly inaccurate even in terms of basic grammar, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the plot, which takes place in the course of an almost completely sunny day. But there we go. I suppose it has a kind of ominous tone to it which is by no means completely inappropriate.)

We find ourselves in rural France, which is flat and seems rather underpopulated, in the company of two maternity ward nurses from Nottingham, who are on a cycling tour. They are played by Pamela Franklin, who never seems to have really hit the big time (though she was in The Legend of Hell House), and Michele Dotrice, who is still probably best remembered for playing Betty Spencer in Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em.

It soon becomes quite apparent that going on holiday together was possibly not the wisest move the girls could have made, for they clearly have very different temperaments: one of them is very sensible, cautious, and organised, and insists that they stick to their planned schedule and itinerary, while the other is much more laid-back and even a touch hedonistic, happily letting herself get distracted by some of the handsome young hommes they come across as they travel. (Seasoned horror movie watchers will already have worked out which one of the duo is likely in for a sticky end before the conclusion of the story, which is why I’m being rather vague about who plays who: it would practically count as a spoiler.)

Well, after stopping for a break on the road, the two girls have a genuine falling-out, with one of them pressing on and the other staying where she is, alone in the woods. But is she quite alone? (Hint: of course not.) Her friend eventually grows worried about her, something which is in no way mitigated by the fact that a female hiker was murdered in those same woods a couple of years earlier, and the killer was never caught. A young man (Sandor Eles) approaches her, presenting himself as a Surete detective on holiday, but is his offer of help all that it seems? Who can she trust?

Brian Clemens’ co-writer on this movie was none other than Terry Nation, who was another contributor to the final season of The Avengers. (The two men seem to have had quite a good working relationship, at least until Clemens ended up taking Nation to court over the issue of who actually originated Survivors.) Both Clemens and Nation have near-legendary reputations as originators of a certain flavour of pulpy, escapist entertainment (Clemens shaped The Avengers into its classic form, as well as creating The New Avengers and The Professionals, while Nation heavily influenced the BBC’s SF-fantasy output in addition to creating – on paper, at least – Survivors and Blake’s 7), so it is a bit of a surprise to find that And Soon the Darkness is a relatively gritty, down-to-earth psychological thriller. Both men are, you would think, a bit out of their comfort zone, and this is before we even come to the fact that the main characters are a couple of young women.

Then again, that’s kind of essential as the movie is really just an exercise in what the French would possibly call le jeopardie du femme: which is to say, it’s a film about young women, but one made largely by, and for, men. There’s often a trace of that little exploitative edge to the film, where the male viewer at least is invited to momentarily entertain some unacceptable thoughts. I suppose this kind of catharsis is an inherent part of the horror genre, but it can still make me feel a bit uncomfortable, and one thing you can say about And Soon the Darkness is that it’s relatively restrained in this area.

This is because it is relatively restrained in pretty much every area, a restraint which may arise partly from creative decisions but also probably owes something to the fact it has clearly been made on a very low budget. There are a handful of characters and locations, none of them especially lavish, no big set pieces or crowd scenes… as an exercise in parsimonious storytelling it’s quite impressive, but one wonders why the film is stretched out to well over ninety minutes, other than for solely contractual reasons. you can understand why this kind of film would start slow and then gradually build to a thrilling climax, but in this case it starts slow, stays quite slow, occasionally decelerates for a bit, then goes back to being just slow rather than actually glacial, and then there’s a climax and it stops.

This is the crux of the issue when it comes to this film: it’s slow and not much happens. You can sense that Nation and Clemens are working very hard to try and generate a bit of intrigue when it comes to the identity of whoever-it-is that’s been murdering young women on holiday, but in the end as a viewer you fundamentally understand that it’s either going to be Sandor Eles or it isn’t, and if it isn’t then it will be someone rather unlikely (basically because Eles’ character is the only plausible suspect). Another consequence of this is that rural France comes across as a very sinister and unsettling place, inhabited by shifty, alarming locals. One can imagine a lot of reproving missives from the French Tourist Board arriving on the producers’ desks, complaining about the poor light this movie places the whole continent in. It’s hardly likely to make people approach their European holidays, or indeed Europe in general, with more positivity. (The roles of Brian Clemens and Terry Nation in subliminally laying the foundations for the Brexit disaster: discuss.)

Well, I suppose most of the acting is pretty good – this is one of Sandor Eles’ better roles, I think, as he mainly seemed to get stuck with second- or third-banana parts in his films for Hammer – and Robert Fuest does the best he can with the material. This is an efficient, economical little psycho-horror-thriller, let down a bit by sluggish pace and lack of incident. But given the names on the script you would be forgiven for expecting something with a bit more colour and life and fun.

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It’s always slightly disconcerting when two films in the same genre end up bearing very similar titles – I’ve written in the past of the potential confusion inherent in the existence of The Day the Earth Caught Fire and The Day the Sky Exploded, not to mention The Land That Time Forgot and Creatures the World Forgot – and this is before we come to films in the same genre, with similar titles, and weirdly similar premises as well. Pay attention, this gets complicated: Shirley Jackson wrote The Haunting of Hill House, adapted for the screen as The Haunting, while Richard Matheson wrote Hell House, which he adapted for the screen as The Legend of Hell House. Haunting? Legend? Hill House? Hell House? The what of which?

Full disclosure: it wasn’t until quite recently that I finally saw either of the films in question, and prior to that I was genuinely prone to getting them mixed up – not that it made much difference, given how little I actually knew about either of them beyond the fact they’re about misguided investigations of pieces of real estate with baleful supernatural properties. Having now seen the Matheson movie, directed by John Hough, I can at least bang on about that with more of a chance of looking like I know what I’m talking about.

The movie opens with physicist Lionel Barrett (played by Clive Revill) receiving a curious challenge from the millionaire Rudolph Deutsch (Roland Culver) – Deutsch will reward Barrett handsomely if he can finally resolve the question of whether the human personality can survive after death. According to Deutsch, there is only one place where this has not been refuted – Belasco House, once the home of an insane, perverted millionaire, which has stood empty for decades. A previous attempt to investigate spiritual disturbances in the mansion led to the death of all but one of the people concerned – it has become, in Barrett’s words, ‘the Mount Everest of haunted houses’.

Assisting Barrett in his mission are a pair of mediums – one of them, Fischer (Roddy McDowell), is the sole survivor of the previous investigation, the other (Pamela Franklin) is younger and more idealistic. Also joining them is Barrett’s wife (Gayle Hunnicutt), who is rather sceptical about the whole project.

Well, Belasco House turns out to be an imposing Gothic pile, complete with bricked-up windows (could this have been to make it easier to film the interior scenes on a sound-stage) and a pre-recorded message of welcome from the last owner, Emeric Belasco. Everyone takes this in their stride remarkably well, to be honest. Barrett wants to press on with holding a seance almost as soon as they arrive, despite Fischer’s misgivings in particular: he is absolutely certain that the house has agency of its own and will actively try to kill them, tainted as it is by the succession of atrocities Belasco carried out. ‘How did it all end?’ asks Mrs Barrett, rather naively. ‘If it had all ended, we would not be here,’ replies Fischer, darkly…

You normally know where you stand when it comes to British horror movies from the early 1970s (this film was released in 1973). Hammer were in decline by this point, making a succession of increasingly lurid and dubious pictures, Amicus were in the midst of their series of portmanteau films, Tigon were just about to depart the stage – as producers, if not distributors – with The Creeping Flesh. The thing about The Legend of Hell House is that it doesn’t feel like or resemble any of those – it may be down to the presence of an American screenwriter (Matheson) and producer (James H Nicholson), but this does feel more like an American movie from the same period – where British horror films always have a tendency towards extravagance and even camp, this is much more sober and naturalistic.

The attempt at a kind of faux-documentary realism is propped up by a series of captions establishing exactly when the various scenes occur, and also by an opening card, supposedl quoting a ‘Psychic Consultant to European Royalty’ (oh, yeah) in whose opinion the events of the film ‘could well be true’. ‘Could well be true’? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Talk about hedging your bets. Nevertheless, the film’s attempts at a kind of eerie restraint work rather well, as things slowly begin to happen, to Pamela Franklin’s character in particular. The atmosphere is effectively oppressive. Much of this is due to an unsettling radiophonic score – not really music, but hardly ambient sound, either – provided by British electronica pioneers Brian Hodgson and Delia Derbyshire. Their work here is every bit as good as you would expect.

In the end, though, the film goes off on a slightly different path, and one which oddly recalls the plot of Nigel Kneale’s The Stone Tape (originally broadcast six months before the release of this film). Barrett, though a physicist, is open-minded about the existence of the supernatural and eventually unveils his ghost-busting machine, the operation of which performs a sort of technological exorcism of the surrounding area (the patent is filed somewhere between Carnacki’s electric pentacle and the Ghostbusters’ proton packs). Nothing wrong with a plot point like this in principle, but the problem is that it actually seems to work – nothing destroys the atmosphere and menace of a haunting like rendering it vulnerable to this sort of occult hoover. The film has to go through some fairly outrageous contortions to accommodate this and still provide a decent climax – it does so, thanks to a very odd cameo by Michael Gough and Roddy McDowell choosing just the right moment to go for it with his performance. It’s still a bit mad, though, effectively revolving around a pair of prosthetic legs and some armchair psychology, and the creepy atmosphere is perhaps a bit too thoroughly dispelled.

Still, this is still a notably effective horror movie, in many ways anticipating the way the genre would go towards the end of the decade. Performances, direction and soundtrack are all good, and if some of the plotting is a bit suspect, Matheson at least provides some very good dialogue, particularly in the opening part of the film. This is probably not the greatest haunted house movie ever made, but it is a memorable and effective one.

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